


Second Time's The Charm

by lockheed_london



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Awkward First Times, Awkward Sexual Situations, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6712666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockheed_london/pseuds/lockheed_london
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas and Martin sleep together for the first time, and it doesn't actually go all that well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Time's The Charm

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this meme prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6968.html?thread=13988920#cmt13988920).
> 
> Thank you for the inspiration, kind anon!

“Mmph.” Martin’s back hit the wall with a thump, echoed a moment later by the hotel room door closing behind them, and he wrapped his arms around Douglas' neck and carried on kissing him. “Oh Douglas... Douglas, that’s–”

“Yes,” Douglas muttered, hands everywhere all at once: pushing inside Martin’s jacket to run over his waist, grabbing at his hips, and even running through his hair. “Yes, God, I want you... want this...”

It was like a dream. After so long watching, _wanting_ , trying not to get caught when Douglas seemed too distracted to notice Martin’s furtive glances, or when he made a flirtatious remark that wasn’t intended for Martin but that nonetheless made his face burn ( _If anyone knows any ghost stories, card tricks, or would like to have some sex..._ ).

Douglas’ hand slid lower, cupping lightly between Martin’s legs, and Martin moaned and sucked in a deep breath through his nose, pushing at Douglas’ shoulders.

“Sorry, sorry,” Douglas said, leaning up, “Too much, too fast, I just–”

“No, um. That’s... fine, actually.” Martin licked his lips, watching Douglas’ gaze drop to his mouth greedily. “But here, let me.”

He pivoted them, marvelling distantly at the fact of Douglas – Douglas! stubborn, contrary man that he was – letting Martin push and pull him around until Douglas was the one with his back against the wall. Martin leaned in for a kiss, going up slightly on his tiptoes until Douglas ducked his head and wrapped his arms around Martin’s waist to steady him.

“Gorgeous,” Douglas was muttering against his mouth, and Martin closed his eyes and clutched a handful of Douglas’ thick, soft hair. “So gorgeous, God, your arse in those trousers is the most distracting thing, do you have any _idea_...”

“You too,” Martin mumbled, veering off to kiss Douglas’ jaw. He ducked lower, sniffing furtively at Douglas’ neck, and the scent of Douglas’ aftershave and his skin made Martin’s cock stiffen further, trapped in his boxers.

“Hmm.” Douglas’ hands were on his arse now, squeezing and kneading at it, and Martin paused to push Douglas’ jacket off his shoulders, thrilling when Douglas immediately lifted his hands to comply, and reciprocated by pushing Martin’s off and reaching for his shirt buttons.

Oh, Martin could hardly believe he was here, that this was really and truly happening to him, and with _Douglas_ of all people, and his stomach fluttered tightly as Douglas reached the final button and yanked Martin’s shirt roughly out of his trousers.

“Want to see you,” Douglas was muttering, kissing Martin’s throat, his newly bare shoulder. He bit lightly at it, making Martin gasp. “Want to see _all_ of you; touch you, fuck you, _Christ_.”

Somehow they were halfway across the room already, and as Douglas’ hands dropped to Martin’s belt, Martin gulped back a sudden rush of nerves. This was all moving rather fast. Not in a _bad_ way, of course, never that. But it had been only ten minutes ago that they’d been outside Douglas’ room and Martin had – unthinking – reached out to dab a stray eyelash off Douglas’ cheek, lingering just a bit too long and Douglas’ eyes had gone at first startled and then heavy-lidded and intense, and then... and then...

The bed bumped the backs of Martin’s knees and he wobbled and sat down heavily, breaking the contact of Douglas’ teeth on his collarbone.

“Good. Now get these off,” Douglas said, hooking his fingers in the loosened waistband of Martin’s trousers and boxers as Martin quickly toed off his shoes, and then dragging them down and off him, all at once, leaving him bare and vulnerable on the bed: his pasty skin and skinny legs and bright ginger pubes all on show.

Martin cupped a hand reflexively over his cock. He hadn't showered before they all went out for dinner, since he’d smelled fine – and also because _he hadn’t exactly planned this_ , for God’s sake! – and he had a moment of intense discomfort at being here, naked and unprepared and with a massive erection in front of Douglas, particularly as Douglas was still wearing his trousers (though Martin had at least managed to get rid of his shirt, thank God).

The trousers didn’t stay for long, however, and the next instant Douglas was naked. Naked, and climbing on the bed, catching hold of Martin’s wrist and drawing his hand away from his cock as he said, “God, look at you.”

“Look at _you_ ,” Martin managed.

He was all too aware of the fact that Douglas was simply _larger_ than him. Taller, yes of course, but also broader; Martin had noticed for some time that Douglas filled out his First Officer’s uniform far better than Martin did his Captain’s one, and he stared at the thatch of hair on Douglas’ chest, the pale skin of his lower belly, and finally let his gaze dip lower to Douglas’ cock hanging stiff and flushed from the scruff of dark hair between his legs and over his balls.

“Douglas...” Martin said, praying his voice wouldn’t crack and embarrass him. God, Douglas was sexy, Martin couldn’t fuck this up. He had to get it right.

“Hmm.” Douglas settled himself next to Martin, catching his chin to hold him steady for a kiss. A kiss that Martin leaned into readily, desperate to keep his mouth from saying anything stupid, and jumped slightly when Douglas put his arm around Martin’s waist.

It was so strange to feel Douglas’ arm – _bare_ arm, even – against the naked skin of his waist. The soft brush of Douglas’ forearm – that Martin had covertly looked at so many times now; such a vulnerable stretch of pale skin and faint blue veins for such a self-assured man – sliding over the sensitive skin of Martin’s waist and back. When was the last time that part of Martin’s body had felt a touch other than his own? Other than the brusque all-over wash he gave himself in the shower, or the occasional scratching of an itch? But Douglas was stroking it, stroking him; rubbing his palm lightly up and down Martin’s back, his touch openly curious and wanting.

It would already have been enough to capture Martin’s attention for hours: just the new and shocking rasp of Douglas’ hand along his back. But at another kiss from Douglas Martin squirmed closer thoughtlessly, only stopping when Douglas’ cock bumped wetly against his thigh. Martin looked down.

“Oh.”

Martin didn’t realised he’d made any noise until Douglas hummed his agreement, glancing down too.

“Look at that,” Douglas said, kissing Martin’s cheek and staring down between their bodies. “Gorgeous.”

Distracting, certainly. The sight of Douglas’ cock, hard and flushed with the head mostly exposed, next to his own, and Martin reached to touch it hesitantly. God, he had to make this good... if he ever wanted even a hope of persuading Douglas to do it again – and _how_ he wanted Douglas to do this again – then he had to make it memorable, make it fantastic.

“Mmm.” Douglas exhaled heavily as Martin tentatively wrapped his hand around it, sliding the loose skin over the hardness beneath. “Hold on, I have supplies in my toiletries bag. Just let me up a moment.”

He rolled off the bed, moving easily, comfortable in his skin, and Martin watched him go, awash in sudden envy. _Martin_ didn’t look like that when he wandered around naked, and with an erection bobbing in front of him he looked even more ridiculous. But Douglas didn’t look anything of the sort, he just looked fucking sexy as hell, and Martin’s hand stole down to rub at his erection as Douglas returned to the bed.

Straight away Douglas leaned in for a kiss, nudging Martin's hand away from his cock to replace it with his own, and Martin's toes curled tightly at the warm, unfamiliar pressure of it, where he was hard and aching. And then...

...born of the heavy press of Douglas’ knee between his own, the bottle of lubricant and square condom packets placed so casually and self-assuredly on the bedside table, but most of all the way that Douglas’ other hand had crept to Martin's arse to touch and grope and _fondle_ it...

...Martin took a deep breath and spoke quickly, before he lost his nerve. “Ithinkyoushouldfuckme.”

Douglas drew back slightly. “Sorry? Didn’t catch that.”

Douglas’ hand was warm and firm on his arse, his fingertips just dipping between Martin’s buttocks. Martin swallowed hard, trying to force relaxation on his racing heart, and repeated, “I want you to fuck me.”

It was the right thing to say: Douglas’ eyes went all hot and the hand on Martin’s arse tightened as he leaned in for a kiss. “Really?”

Just in case this was his only chance, Martin wanted all he could get. “Yeah.”

It was the last word he said for some time; if Martin thought Douglas had been kissing him before then it was nothing to what he was doing now, pushing Martin down on his back and climbing on top of him to settle between Martin’s legs, thrusting down against him and grinding his erection against Martin’s until Martin was half out of his mind: spreading his thighs shamelessly and clawing at Douglas’ waist, his arse, pulling him closer. Douglas licked Martin’s throat – making Martin whimper – and moved down to pay attention to Martin’s nipples, and Martin bit his lip as anticipation coiled hotly in his belly.

But it turned out that Douglas’ idea of foreplay was a bit different to what Martin would use on himself. The attention he paid to Martin’s nipples was slightly rough: the heavy rub of his thumb over them felt good, but when Douglas covered a nipple with his mouth and bit lightly it was all Martin could do not to flinch.

“Like that?” Douglas asked, lifting his head to talk and licking across the tight rise of flesh as his fingers pinched the other one.

“Mmm,” Martin managed, torn between the breathy tease of warm air against one, while the hard pressure on the other made him want to recoil, his arms folded protectively across his chest.

He compromised, tangling his fingers in Douglas’ hair when Douglas bent his head again, and when Douglas nipped sharply at him Martin let out a strangled noise and jerked sharply at Douglas’ hair, trying at the last minute to turn it into a moan of pleasure.

“Alright there?” Douglas was turning his head slowly as he addressed Martin, seeming to like the feeling of Martin's hand tight in his hair. God, but he was sexy like that: naked on top of Martin, his chest and belly so firm and solid.

“Yes.” Martin’s voice came out a good half-octave higher than his normal speaking voice; when he heard it Douglas gave a slow, wolfish smile and pushed against Martin a few times, the tight press of their cocks together just starting to be wet.

“I...” Martin swallowed hard, hopelessly aroused at the hot glide of Douglas’ cock against his, while his nipples stung slightly from Douglas’ rather too vigorous attentions. “Um. Just... do it. Now.”

“Oh I say. Keen, are we?” Douglas all but purred, leaning back up to kiss Martin, and Martin closed his eyes and made an indistinct noise.

Douglas would be good at it, Martin would bet. It had been a long, long time since he’d been fucked, but ghosts of dimly remembered pleasure turned his knees to water and made him shiver in anticipation. He squeezed Douglas’ hips with his thighs. “Yeah.”

“Alright then.” Douglas shuffled down the bed, rubbing his five o’clock shadow against Martin’s sternum and Martin groaned inwardly, nerving himself to at least try to voice some sort of constructive criticism before Douglas’ mauling of his chest made him lose his erection entirely. “Pass me that bottle, would you?”

Martin did so, chewing frantically on his lip as he watched Douglas smearing the first two fingers of his right hand, before he realised that Douglas had spared only a perfunctory kiss to his nipples and was moving lower, rubbing his nose into Martin’s stomach and trailing pointed kisses down to where Martin’s cock lay flushed and hard and starting to be wet at the tip.

Oh, Douglas couldn’t, he–

Martin hadn’t showered since that morning. And worse – his face burned with recollection – he’d gone for a piss partway through dinner, and he chewed frantically on his lip until the nerves gripping his spine threatened to send his heart leaping out of his chest. He caught hold of Douglas’ hair. “ _Don’t._ ”

Douglas looked up sharply, his face inches from the head of Martin’s cock. “Don’t?”

“I mean, not that.” Martin cupped a hand over his erection, trying to subtly pull Douglas back up the bed. Imagine if Douglas went ahead when Martin hadn’t washed... what if Douglas smelled... or – oh God – _tasted_... “Kiss me instead.”

Douglas obliged, sliding easily back up the bed while his fingers rubbed firmly, slickly behind Martin’s balls, his other hand pinching firmly at Martin’s nipples again and as Martin kissed Douglas, eyes tightly shut, his stomach gave a little flip of apprehension as he remembered.

How stupid, _stupid_ of him, how could he have forgotten: not only had he not showered since that morning, he’d also used the toilet – _really_ used it – on Gerti. And of course he’d wiped himself afterwards, thoroughly, but if he’d known _this_ would be happening he’d have taken a long hot shower, scrubbing himself and even soaping up his fingers and–

“Douglas,” Martin gasped, squeezing Douglas’ forearm. Should he ask Douglas to stop, while Martin went for a quick shower? It was a hell of a mood killer, though: what if Martin left, and returned to find Douglas with second thoughts, dressed and awkward and holding out Martin’s clothes? But oh, Martin couldn’t just let him– “Douglas, I, er...”

Douglas rumbled a lazy, questioning sort of noise, sliding his fingers further back to rub them over Martin's hole, and Martin said – eloquently – “Nnngh! Douglas, I – oh _fuck_.”

Too late for hesitation, or pauses, or any of that: Douglas’ fingers had slid up inside him and Martin made a high-pitched, embarrassing noise while Douglas pressed greedy kisses to his chin, his cheeks, huffing hot breath against Martin’s mouth.

“God, you’re tight,” Douglas muttered, twisting his fingers gently. He nipped at Martin’s lip. “ _So_ tight. Has it been a while?”

“N-no,” Martin lied, still keeping his eyes shut and biting his lower lip. That was all he needed: for Douglas to realise that – of bloody _course_ – this was yet another area where his experience far outstripped Martin’s and Martin gasped for breath and tried to relax, to let his body accept the strange, half-forgotten pressure.

“Yes, there you are,” Douglas said quietly, pausing to bite a soft kiss onto Martin’s mouth. “Just relax, I’ll make it good, I promise.”

Martin didn’t doubt it. As long as he could just focus on the current physical sensation without thinking about the next bit, it was easy. But he couldn’t stop his mind leaping ahead to the fact that this was _Douglas_ , and that if Martin wasn’t any good then he didn’t know if he dreaded more that Douglas would mock, or that he would be all politely awkward about it, skirting carefully around the topic.

“Do it,” Martin said at last, when the butterflies in his stomach became too much to bear. “Now, do it.”

“Mmm. You’re still quite...” Douglas trailed off delicately, rotating his fingers, as Martin squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried once again to relax. “I mean, are you sure you’re... ready?”

“Yes.” Martin unwound himself from Douglas’ arms, rolling onto his front. “Like this, come on.”

Behind him, Douglas exhaled heavily. So Douglas did still want to, then, in spite of his hesitancy. Good.

“Well, if you’re sure...”

“I am.” Martin hugged a pillow close to his face, pressing his hot cheek into its smooth softness. Behind him the mattress dipped and surged as Douglas kneeled, and there was the plastic crinkle of a condom packet.

“Let me just...” Douglas said, and the next instant his fingers – cool and newly slippery – pushed between Martin’s buttocks, pressing more lube into him, and Martin squeaked in surprise, catching himself at the last moment to turn it into a moan.

“Go on.”

Like this would be good. Would be perfect, in fact: Douglas could just line up and get inside him without having to look too much at... well. Anything down there. And Martin couldn’t really reach his cock lying like this but that was ok: this was about putting on a good show for Douglas, and he’d never found it entirely easy to come from being fucked and wasn’t expecting to do so this time, but that was fine, he could finish after, and maybe Douglas would give him a hand–

“Up you get.” Douglas gripped his hips firmly.

“W-what?”

“Up on your hands and knees, come on.”

Douglas was pulling at his hips in a way that wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, half-lifting Martin without any help from Martin at all and _Christ_ it was sexy to feel the latent strength in his hold.

Martin gave a little moan, half-aroused and half-despairing, as he got obediently to hands and knees, inwardly writhing with embarrassment at the knowledge that this position was going to put everything on display. He wasn’t waxed smooth like all those lithe young men in porn – and yes, he watched porn, usually of tall, dark, broad-shouldered types when he could find it. He had _hair_ down there, and he hadn’t had time for a proper wash–

“Spread your knees.” Douglas was crowding close behind him, pushing at Martin’s inner thighs in a way that meant business, and Martin shuffled his knees apart.

“No, wider than that. Come on.”

Douglas draped himself over Martin’s back, biting kisses into his spine as his cock pressed hot and huge against Martin’s arse, and Martin swallowed in nervous arousal. Such a turn-on to feel Douglas against him like this, with Douglas’ broad thighs working between Martin’s own and pushing them still wider, and when Douglas’ hand snaked around to take Martin’s cock in a loose, slick clasp it startled a moan out of him.

“Yes, there you are,” Douglas said, leaning back up, while Martin’s face burned with the knowledge that Douglas could see _everything_ now. It was too late to do anything about his appearance, but Martin prayed he didn’t look _too_ bad. Thank God it didn’t seem to be putting Douglas off, anyway.

“Deep breath,” Douglas ordered, taking his hand off Martin’s cock to position himself.

Martin inhaled automatically, and when he exhaled Douglas pressed forward against him.

It was impossible: Douglas felt _enormous_ butted up against him like that. Enormous, and so hard... Martin had a mad, panicked instant of thinking that this wasn’t going to work, he’d never fit and they’d have to abandon it, but Douglas heaved forward again and Martin’s body yielded all in a rush and the top few inches of Douglas’ cock were suddenly inside.

Douglas’ groan mingled with Martin’s, and his hand tightened on Martin’s hip just as Martin knotted his fists tightly in the sheets.

“Oh,” Douglas gasped, moaning a little. “Oh _Martin_.”

“Yeah,” Martin got out, between gritted teeth. Well, that wasn’t quite as good as he... a few moments, that was all he needed, and he tried to take deep breaths, rather than ragged gulps, as his body thrummed with tension.

Douglas pulled back slightly; only slightly, but he slipped free and he cursed.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, shuffling his knees to get closer to Martin.

Martin had barely had time to catch his breath – relief welling up unbidden at the cessation of the rather painful stretch – before Douglas was pushing back inside him and Martin had to clench his jaw against the urge to cry out.

It really had been a while, because that actually _hurt_. Douglas felt absolutely massive, and Martin was tense with nerves, and when Douglas pulled back and pushed a little deeper Martin bit down hard on the side of his cheek but couldn't stop a whimper through his nose.

“You alright?” Douglas asked, his voice hoarse.

“Mmm.” Hopefully that was suitably convincing, but Martin flinched when Douglas took his hand off Martin’s hip – making his cock shift inside Martin – and reached for Martin’s erection.

Or his _lack_ of erection: the discomfort of the whole process had left Martin thoroughly turned off, his cock dangling soft and small when Douglas’ hand closed over it.

“Sorry,” Martin muttered, face burning. He took his weight on one hand and reached down to tug briskly at himself. “I’m just... um...”

“Not to worry, often happens,” Douglas said, sounding a bit breathless.

Unseen, Martin spared a moment to roll his eyes. Right, of _course_ Douglas would have taken a poll of that too, but when Douglas started to try to help Martin along it was all Martin could do to hold still and not flinch. Oh God too hard, too _hard_... was this how Douglas touched himself when he was masturbating? With that sort of pressure, how was his cock even still _attached_?

Martin tried to slow him down, to lighten his touch, but the effort of balancing his upper body weight on one hand was making his left shoulder burn and throwing him off-balance, and every brisk pull of Douglas’ hand impaled him harder onto Douglas’ cock, forcing more noises from his throat that he hoped devoutly Douglas was taking as noises of pleasure.

“Martin?”

“I’m fine,” Martin said, finally pushing Douglas’ hand away and cupping a protective hand over his sore cock. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll get hard again when we... when we...”

“But-“

“I’m fine.” In a bid to prove it, Martin started to pull lightly at his cock. “Come on.”

He grit his teeth and rolled his hips. The thick, heavy drag of Douglas’ cock pulling out and then forcing its way back inside him made him squeeze his eyes shut, chewing hard on the inside of his cheek, but it was worth it to hear Douglas’ beautiful voice break on a moan.

“Oh God, you feel good,” Douglas said raggedly, his big hands splayed over Martin’s hips and his cock making soft, wet noises as he thrust shallowly. “ _Fuck_ , that’s amazing.”

Martin bit down on his tongue, holding back his noises. This was _Douglas_ , and more than anything else in the world he wanted to persuade Douglas to do this again, but to tell the truth this wasn’t really doing it for him. In fact – if he were being honest – it was pretty terrible, and Martin chewed his lip and couldn’t repress a whimper at a particularly hard thrust from Douglas, letting go of his cock and flinging his hand out to brace himself, grabbing the pillow in his fist and clenching hard.

“Martin?”

The mattress squeaked slightly as Douglas shifted position, and Martin gave a pained noise. He couldn’t help it: the lube was started to dry into tackiness, and the longer this went on the harder it was getting to fake it.

“Martin, are you alright?”

“Fine,” Martin gasped, and the next instant Douglas’ hand closed over his cock. His small, flaccid cock.

“You’re not even hard.”

“I’ve come already,” Martin lied desperately, unclenching his hand from the pillow to push weakly at Douglas’ wrist. “Just a few... uh, moments ago. It was... really nice, er–”

“Bullshit.” Douglas’ voice was hard now, no trace of desire. “D’you think I can’t tell when a man’s just come?”

With no further comment Douglas gripped Martin’s hip to steady him and pulled out of him in a smooth, unhesitating movement; it was slightly too quick, however, and Martin finally couldn’t hold back a small cry. He had no words, it was as instinctive as the noise of an animal in pain and with much the same overtones, and Douglas cursed, sounding appalled. “Jesus Christ, Martin.”

His hands were on Martin’s buttocks, spreading him, presumably wanting to check him, but Martin scrambled away to the other side of the bed before turning his face to meet Douglas’ gaze, dreading what he would see.

“What the hell are you...” Douglas looked shocked, just really completely lost for words. “What on earth was that about? Do you not want...” He licked his lips, staring at Martin. “I mean, I thought you were keen on this, I–”

“I was,” Martin said. “I _am_. I... I’m...”

Suddenly, it was too much. This was humiliating: his face burned with shame, his arse _hurt_ , and he’d made a complete and utter fool of himself, and blown the only chance he would ever have with Douglas, and Martin skittered off the bed.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice trembling as he quickly picked up his tangled trousers, shaking them out before stepping into them. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, I... I’m not very good at this, you see.”

“Martin...” Douglas sat there, the condom looking ridiculous as it drooped half-off his sagging erection. He still looked shocked. “Wait.”

“No.” Martin shook his head violently. His eyes were hot and prickly; his sinuses thick. He sniffed wetly. “No, please, _please_ , let’s just not.” There went the last faint hope he was going to make it out of there without crying, and tears of scalding embarrassment stung his eyes until he rubbed his shirt cuff roughly across them. “ ‘m sorry.”

Damn it, where the hell was his other sock?

“Hold on.” Finally, Douglas twitched a fold of sheet over his lap, cleared his throat, and spoke in his usual authoritative voice. “Now just take a moment, here, and let’s–”

His arse was uncomfortably sticky from all the lube Douglas had used, doubtless he was smearing it all over the seat of his uniform trousers but nothing to be done about that. Oh God, this had been such a stupid idea, what had possessed him, to think he and Douglas might be a good fit? And now he was so embarrassed he wanted to die, and in pain, and he limped quickly to the door.

“Please,” Martin begged, because it had to be worth a try, “please, is there any chance we could just... never ever mention this _ever_ again?”

“What?” Douglas gaped at him, but rallied. “I... now look here.”

Well it had been worth a try, but who had Martin been kidding? He couldn’t wait to hear any more of Douglas’ comments – he was well aware of how utterly ridiculous he looked – and Martin quickly stuffed the tails of his shirt into his trousers before fleeing for the door, and the sanctuary of his own room.

***

It took two tries to get the key card the right way round, and when Martin eventually shut the door behind him he was shaking, and still alarmingly close to tears. How mortifying, how thoroughly and completely... how stupid of him. And however was he going to face Douglas in the flight deck tomorrow, knowing that Douglas had had his hands all over Martin, and even had his _fingers_ up his–

Martin gave a panicked little sob, before biting down hard on his fist. First of all, a shower. A bath would have been preferable – something he could lie in and soak away his misery – but of course a hotel this cheap wasn’t going to have a bath so the creaky, dribbling shower it was.

The grotty beige tiles were cold under Martin’s forearms and Martin braced himself up against them, letting the hot water beat down on his head and shoulders; it helped to soothe his body, but his mind was still churning nauseously. What was he going to _do_? Would it be too drastic to just... not turn up to work any more? He could quit, pretend he could no longer manage without a salary, apply for other airlines... God knew he could certainly use the extra free time to do more paying work with Icarus Removals, and focus more on job applications to airlines that would actually _pay_ him.

But all that was a secondary consideration to the fact that he’d made such an utter mess of his one chance with Douglas. Douglas, who he’d had a raging crush on for months now, and who he’d never even thought would look twice at him, and then when the impossible had happened... he’d made a proper hash of it.

Martin sighed deeply, gritting his teeth when it threatened to turn into a sob at the end. He couldn't stay in here forever – much as he might wish it, the hot spray wasn’t _actually_ going to dissolve and wash him away, sparing him tomorrow’s ordeal – and Martin washed himself slowly but thoroughly, trying to scrub away the sense of failure and hissing a breath through his teeth at the rough chafe of the sponge over his arse.

He dressed slowly, in his pyjamas. For a moment there, during their kisses, when Douglas had been plucking at the buttons on Martin’s shirt and it became obvious he was interested in more than just a snog, the dizzyingly happy thought had flashed through his mind that he wasn’t going to _need_ pyjamas this evening. Turned out he’d been too optimistic. As bloody usual.

There was a small electric kettle with teabags and coffee sachets by the TV, and Martin filled it and switched it on. Tea, that was a good idea. Tea, and an early night with his book – he winced and shifted as he perched on the edge of the bed – and maybe half a paracetamol, just to help him sleep, and in the morning... well, to be honest, in the morning things would still be totally and irredeemably shit, but at least he’d have had a good night’s sleep.

The familiar ritual of making tea was comforting, and Martin fished a paracetamol tablet out of his first aid kit, swallowing it dry before gingerly cupping the hot mug of tea between his palms. He inhaled the rising steam. There. That helped, somewhat.

A knock at the door made him look up. Bit late for housekeeping, wasn’t it? Doubtless Arthur coming to ask about tomorrow’s return journey, and Martin sighed as he walked to the door. Much as he liked Arthur’s cheeriness he would really prefer to lick his wounds in peace, but when Martin swung the door open it was Douglas who met his eyes instead. Martin’s stomach clenched tightly before sinking all the way down to the hotel reception, three floors below them.

“Douglas,” he said, his mouth gone suddenly cottony, “um... w-what–”

“No,” Douglas said, with no greeting or preamble, and Martin shut up. “No way, no how. Just no. Absolutely nothing doing. I refuse.”

Martin blinked at him. “S-sorry?”

“I refuse to let _that_ ,” Douglas jerked his chin back down the corridor, in the direction of his room, “be our only attempt at... this.”

He gestured between them. His shirt cuffs were unbuttoned, the material flapping loosely about his wrist, and the front was done up wrongly with the buttons and holes mismatched.

“Um...” Martin swallowed, belatedly transferring his tea to the other hand when it began to burn his palm. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I thought I was perfectly clear. I... well.” Douglas rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and looked away. “I don’t think that went all that well, do you?”

Martin nipped his lip under a fresh surge of misery, praying his voice wouldn’t shake. “N-no. I don’t.”

“Right. And so I.” Douglas cleared his throat. ”I apologise.”

Well. That was certainly unexpected. “You what?”

“Yes. I wasn’t at my best; I was a bit, well, rushed.” Douglas lifted his eyes to meet Martin’s, and one side of his mouth pulled up slightly. “In my defence, I’ve spent so much time fantasising about more or less precisely that happening that I think I forgot for a moment that it wasn’t fantasy but real.”

Oh. Oh goodness.

“You’ve...fantasised about that? About...”

“About you. Yes.”

“Oh.” Martin looked away. So many feelings... embarrassment still heating his face and keeping his heart down around his knees, but now there was also a budding flicker of hope.

“Mmm.” Martin glanced back to find Douglas watching him, his eyes tracking over Martin’s mouth, his neck, the stretched-out collar of his sleep T-shirt. “Could I...”

Douglas reached out to touch his fingertips lightly to the back of Martin’s hand, the one hanging uselessly by his side, and Martin dazedly lifted it and let Douglas hold it between his own.

Martin swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing frantically. “What are you saying?”

“I’m asking,” Douglas said, his thumb tracing little circles into Martin’s palm, “whether we can have another go. Please? After all, everyone knows first times are rubbish, as I think we’ve just conclusively established.”

At that Martin couldn’t help snorting with laughter and Douglas smiled at him, looking relieved. He didn’t let go of Martin’s hand though, in fact he slid his grip a little higher to stroke the soft inside of Martin’s wrist with his blunt fingertips. It made Martin’s knees quiver under him. How had he got so far through life without knowing what a massive erogenous zone that was?

“So now that we’ve concluded that the old saying does have some truth to it, could we try again?”

“Er...” Did Douglas mean another try at _everything_? Because frankly Martin was still sore, and the idea of Douglas going anywhere _near_ his arse was distinctly unarousing. “Do you mean trying again at...um...”

“I mean this time I was hoping we could perhaps take it more slowly, and see how we get on.” Douglas wet his lips, and Martin saw a flash of that same hungry look Douglas had worn in bed earlier. “Perhaps just a kiss? To start?”

Oh God, Martin did want to kiss him, so much that there was a rush of saliva under his tongue even as butterflies began to dance in his stomach.

“Yes,” he said, stepping back from the door and pulling his hand gently out of Douglas’ clasp to open the door wider, “er, yes, okay. I’d like that.”

“Marvellous.” Douglas stepped over the threshold, pushing the door shut without taking his eyes off Martin, and reached for him.

Or no, Martin realised an instant later, Douglas was reaching for his mug of tea, taking it gently from him and bending down to set it on the floor by the door before straightening up and stepping close.

Martin gulped. This close, it was obvious that Douglas had paused for a quick shower before coming after him: he smelled of his shower gel, and clean skin, and Martin’s breath stuttered as Douglas reached out to cup his face. Martin shut his eyes – it was that or go cross-eyed, Douglas was so close – and tipped his face up ready for another of those deep, greedy kisses that they’d just shared.

However Martin _wasn’t_ ready for Douglas to brush his palm over his forehead, the side of his hand skirting Martin’s hairline, and press a kiss to Martin’s cheekbone. Martin caught his breath at that. Douglas’ lips were warm, and soft, and Douglas shifted to kiss the other cheek before dipping his head to place the lightest of kisses on Martin’s mouth. A brief cling of lips, and a withdrawal, and then Douglas returned, with another kiss that made Martin’s lips part instinctively.

Rather late, Martin lifted his hands to hold Douglas’ shoulders. This was nothing like the previous kisses; like night and day, in fact, and if the earlier ones had been bright and hot and intense, these were soft and slow and clinging, and Martin sighed a breath out through his nose, leaning into Douglas and shifting a hand higher to tentatively cup Douglas’ nape.

“Hmm.” Douglas lifted his head and Martin opened his eyes, blinking up at Douglas as Douglas seemed to arch into Martin’s hand like a cat. “Oh, yes please.”

Douglas stroked Martin’s face again, tracing the line of his eyebrows and continuing back to his temple, and Martin closed his eyes briefly at the touch of Douglas’ callused palms, the broad pads of his fingertips.

“More,” Martin said, surprising himself at how out of breath he sounded when he spoke. “Kiss me again.”

He tightened his grip on Douglas’ nape, daring to pull just a bit, and Douglas made an odd sort of noise, a curious half-hum, half-purr that made Martin shiver in anticipation, and dipped his head.

These kisses were different again, and Martin all but melted under them. Soft, and slow, but with overt carnal intent behind them: Douglas kissed Martin’s mouth and nibbled softly at his lower lip, dipped his tongue in to rasp shallowly over the inside of Martin’s top lip and brush against Martin’s own. Martin moaned softly. God, the thought of that mouth and tongue elsewhere... being all soft and unhurried and wet, where Martin was hard and eager...

Martin’s hand tightened in Douglas' hair, and Douglas groaned deep in his chest and dipped down lower to kiss at Martin’s throat, making Martin’s thighs – already a bit shaky since Douglas had once more crowded into his personal space and started kissing him – threaten to give out entirely.

“ _Oh_ ,” Martin gasped, tilting his chin up and leaning into Douglas, rubbing his erection against Douglas’ hip slightly. In reply Douglas moaned quietly, licking a hot trail up Martin’s neck to nuzzle at his jaw, hands drifting down to hold Martin’s waist through his T-shirt.

Douglas’ hands were hot, his touch a bit greedy and tight. Martin had already experienced the novel sensation of Douglas’ hands on his torso once that evening yet this second time was no less exciting than the first; the cotton of his T-shirt shifted against his skin under Douglas’ touch, the pressure and warmth of Douglas’ grip bleeding quickly through the thin fabric, and Martin shifted his stance slightly and redoubled his kisses.

Douglas was hard too. As Martin tried to press closer, Douglas nudged against Martin and Martin felt the firm length of Douglas’ cock pushing against his hip. He ran his hands down Douglas’ sides, breaking their kiss to lick and nibble at his throat, and Douglas groaned softly and tilted his head to one side.

An impulse struck Martin and he bit lightly at the side of Douglas’ neck, just where the _smell_ of Douglas was driving Martin crazy, and Douglas caught his breath sharply. Martin stopped.

“No?” Martin leaned further down to nose at Douglas’ open shirt collar.

“On the contrary, _yes_ ,” Douglas said, fervently cradling Martin’s nape and squeezing his waist with his other hand. “Very much yes. But you can go a bit harder if you want.”

Ah. That made sense, didn’t it; remembering Douglas’ rough caresses, Martin was sure he’d once heard that, in the absence of any prior knowledge or cues from a new bed partner, then people tended default to enacting their own preferences on said new partner.

Martin tried again, thrilling when Douglas moaned softly and clutched at Martin, and a few moments later Douglas shifted his weight, pressing against Martin and – accidentally or deliberately, Martin didn’t know – dragging his hips across Martin’s.

The slow grind of Douglas’ erection against his own sent a wash of pleasure crackling through Martin, and he broke off to gasp. He shifted blindly, trying to reciprocate, planting his bare feet either side of Douglas’ shoes, opening himself and encouraging Douglas to rub up against him, and the heavy press of Douglas’ weight, thrusting clumsily against him, made him moan, louder this time.

“I know,” Douglas muttered nonsensically, breathing heavily as he roughly tugged at the neck of Martin’s T-shirt to kiss his collarbone. “Mmm, yes, I know.”

“Can we...” Martin swallowed, trying to line up brain and mouth when Douglas’ hair was tickling Martin’s throat, his mouth hot on Martin’s skin, and lower down Douglas had found the hollow of Martin’s hip through his pyjama bottoms and was taking a great pleasure in massaging little circles into it with his thumb, while pushing his cock erratically against Martin’s.

“Sit down,” Martin said. Not making any sense at all, but Douglas understood enough to stand back and let Martin take his hand and pull him over to the bed.

Not to the chair, Martin realised a second later, at Douglas’ pleased smile, not to the single armchair in the corner, although that would only have supported both of them if Martin had sat on Douglas’ lap, and as Martin’s cock throbbed faintly he thought that _there_ was an idea to (possibly, hopefully) explore at a later date. Himself, naked, sitting astride Douglas’ bare thighs, pressed close enough that he could take both of them in his hand together and stroke and tease them, kissing Douglas all the while.

But here and now, they sat on the bed and Martin swallowed. They were almost close enough for their legs to touch, and when Martin shifted, turning slightly towards Douglas, his knees bumped hard against Douglas’.

“Sorry,” he said reflexively.

“Not at all,” Douglas said politely, rubbing his palms briefly against his thighs.

Martin looked at him, catching Douglas in the act of stealing a glance at _him_ , and Douglas smiled faintly. He looked nervous, and that bolstered Martin’s courage enough that he reached out and took Douglas’ hand, bringing it to rest in his lap and – he belatedly realised – just inches from the obvious bulge in his pyjama bottoms. A glance at Douglas’ lap showed that he was just as affected, though, and Martin exhaled in mingled pleasure and relief – _he still wants me, oh God, look how much he wants this_ – before inching closer and murmuring, “Where were we?”

Douglas shifted, turning to mirror Martin’s posture and moving closer until their thighs pressed together. “Here, I believe.”

He leaned in, and Martin couldn’t hold back any more but reached for him, grabbing clumsily at his shoulder as Douglas’ mouth found his again.

This was _so_ much better. Martin didn’t have to focus on standing still; his cock throbbed and lengthened, arousal prickling hot up the inside of his thighs, and he shifted them slightly wider. His arse was still faintly sore from their previous attempt, but with lust making his heart pound the discomfort added a curious sort of edge to his pleasure, sparking it higher.

“Oh,” Douglas sighed, nosing at Martin’s neck again, and pressing his mouth to the hollow below his ear to inhale deeply, “ _God_ , you smell delicious, you know.”

What could Martin say to that? _You too_ lacked originality, however true it might have been, and instead he guided Douglas’ mouth back up for another kiss, rubbed at his arm, and half-whispered, suddenly shy, “Lie down with me.”

Martin let himself tip backwards on to the mattress, and barely had to tug at Douglas’ shirtfront before Douglas stretched out next to him, pressing close for kisses.

This was even better. Douglas seemed to take it as permission to stroke Martin’s chest and stomach through his thin T-shirt, running his hands all over Martin until Martin was almost frantic for Douglas’ hands on bare skin, since Douglas insisted on staying chastely – maddeningly – on the outside of his clothes. Martin wriggled a little, deliberately rucking his T-shirt up slightly, and tugged Douglas’ shirt up at the back, just enough to bare the small of his back, and the joint messages seemed to do the trick.

“Can I...” Douglas broke off from kissing Martin, resting their foreheads together and looking down to where his fingers toyed with the hem of Martin’s T-shirt, brushing against Martin’s stomach as they did so.

“Yes,” Martin said, half-gasping, “yeah, _please_.”

As Douglas pushed his hand under Martin’s T-shirt, Martin bit his lip under a brief flare of nerves. He was skinny, ribs too easily felt through skin and with only a few pathetic wisps of ginger hair along his sternum, but Douglas was running his splayed hand over Martin’s stomach and making greedy little noises into Martin’s mouth as though this was more erotic than any bronzed, gym-toned model.

In a bid to even things up Martin fumbled with the buttons on Douglas’ shirt, and when Douglas felt that he leaned back a bit to give Martin more room.

“You’ve got them done up wrong,” Martin said, keeping his mouth busy so that he didn’t blurt out something utterly ridiculous about the breadth of Douglas’ chest, the desire to bury his face in the scruff of dark hair liberally scattered with grey and just breathe him in.

“Well.” When Martin plucked the last button loose, Douglas sat up and shrugged his shirt off, dropping it on the floor without a second glance. He arched an eyebrow at Martin, smiling faintly. “I was getting dressed in rather a hurry, not to mention I had just _dived_ through the shower, and wasn’t entirely dry when I pulled it on.”

Oh, that was flattering, in an odd sort of way; Martin opened his mouth to tell Douglas so, but the next instant was thoroughly distracted by the flex and play of muscles in Douglas’ shoulders, his arms, by the flashing glimpse of dark hair under each arm as Douglas pulled the shirt off and reached out to drop it on the floor. Douglas was a bit plump, yes, but there was real muscle under there and Martin ran a hand up Douglas’ bare arm.

“Come on, then.” Douglas lay back down, propping his head up on a hand, looking at Martin. “Fair’s fair. You too.”

He pulled Martin’s T-shirt hem up a few pointed inches; Martin sat up to comply, and then lay back down, quashing a stupid urge to cross his arms over his chest. Douglas had seen it before, not an hour earlier, and he had still come back to ask for another try.

“Oh yes,” Douglas said, half to himself. He ran two fingers down Martin’s sternum, and Martin swallowed, reaching for Douglas’ chest to touch in return, flattening his palm over coarse hair and warm skin.

More kisses, then, this time with bare chests and stomachs brushing and making Martin shiver with each press, each caress of Douglas’ palm along his waist, down his back.

“What about this,” Douglas said, sliding his hand up Martin’s stomach and chest to touch a nipple. “Can I...”

He didn’t wait to finish his sentence, or for Martin’s incoherent but enthusiastic assent, rubbing a thumb over it before catching it between finger and thumb and pinching lightly. It shot pleasure right through Martin, pooling between his legs, and Martin moaned softly and gripped Douglas’ arm. Douglas groaned back at him; doing it again but slightly harder this time – doubtless spurred on by enthusiasm – and Martin broke off their kiss with a different sort of noise, his hand flying up reflexively to pull Douglas away.

“Sorry,” Douglas said at once, drawing back to look at Martin, “sorry.” His hair was ruffled, his cheeks pink, and he bit his lip briefly. “Not good?”

“No, no, it’s good,” Martin said quickly, relaxing his death grip on Douglas’ hand and turning it into a caress. “Just... not so hard.”

“Show me.” Douglas’ voice had gone low, making it sound as though he was asking for something far dirtier, and Martin suppressed a whimper. There was really no reason for just those words, in Douglas’ deep voice, to make his cock stiffen like that.

“Um, here.” Hardly daring to believe he was doing it, Martin tangled their fingers together and guided Douglas’ hand back to his chest. “Like... like this.”

Lightly, he rubbed Douglas’ fingertips across a nipple, catching his breath at the pleasure of it, and watching Douglas’ gaze fixed intently on his own hand on Martin’s chest. Martin arched a little, his nipple tightening under the attention, before pinching lightly at it. Douglas copied him clumsily, at first making Martin's breath hiss between his teeth, but on the second attempt Douglas gentled his touch and Marin gripped Douglas’ forearm and moaned his encouragement, eyes sliding shut in pleasure.

“Oh, you’re _sensitive_ ,” Douglas said, sounding a bit like he’d solved a puzzle and a bit like he’d been given an early Christmas present, all at once, and Martin had barely said “Um, yeah, a bit” before Douglas’ mouth pressed hot against his chest and he almost jumped out of his skin.

Martin was so keyed up that even the suggestion of what Douglas was about to do had him quivering, and Douglas pressed a couple of open-mouthed kisses to Martin’s chest before shifting over to lick over the nipple his fingers had been stimulating just moments before.

Pleasure crackled along Martin’s nerves. The wet rasp of Douglas’ tongue over sensitive flesh, the soft pull of his lips and the faintest graze of teeth in there too, and Martin wound his hands into Douglas’ hair and tried not to pull on it as Douglas suckled lightly, rhythmically at Martin’s nipple until moans welled out of him.

Further down the bed, Douglas’ legs shifted, nudging his knee between Martin’s; just the slightest suggestion but Martin parted his legs in approval, letting Douglas in closer until his thigh was wedged firmly between Martin’s and Martin could tilt his hips forward to press his erection against the solidity of Douglas’ leg.

“Oh God.” It was almost a whimper, and Douglas made a vague noise against Martin’s chest, pushing his leg more firmly against Martin’s hips in encouragement.

That felt fantastic. Martin pushed against Douglas’ leg, rubbing his cock against solid muscle and biting his lips at the warmth and strength of him, the responsive little twitches as Douglas braced himself against the rocking pressure of Martin’s thrusts.

“ _Oh_ ,” Douglas groaned, at last releasing Martin’s nipple to lean his forehead against Martin’s chest. His hand reached around and down, cupping Martin’s arse through his pyjama bottoms and groping him.

“That’s... hmm...” It dawned on Martin that he was being a bit selfish, and he drew a deep breath and swallowed back his flicker of nerves at Douglas’ blatant interest in his arse. “You... you’re not... I mean, I’m ignoring you.”

Awkwardly, he reached for Douglas’ chest, rubbing lightly across his nipples, but Douglas didn’t respond. Douglas, in fact, seemed far more interested in leaning his forehead against Martin’s chest and looking down between their bodies, watching the heavy ridge of Martin’s cock in his pyjamas as Martin thrust clumsily against Douglas’ thigh wedged between his. Martin stilled his hips, trying to compose himself enough to reciprocate. He was hot and bothered, faintly damp at his temples, his cock thick and hard and aching for a proper touch, yet he’d seen Douglas get more breathless from climbing the stairs.

But then Douglas lifted his head to look at him and Martin revised that opinion slightly: Douglas’ cheeks were pink, his eyes gone heavy-lidded.

“I want to touch you,” Douglas said, leaning up to capture Martin’s mouth in a kiss that ended up with a gentle bite to his bottom lip. “Can I?”

“Um...” Lust had made Martin stupid: Douglas’ hand still fondling Martin’s arse and it wasn’t until Douglas rubbed his fingertips over the wisps of hair just under Martin’s navel that Martin understood. But to be fair, he hadn’t exactly anticipated Douglas asking _permission_... not after all they’d done to each other already that evening...

“Yes.” Martin reached down, fumbling to close his hand around Douglas’ wrist and push Douglas’ hand lower, “oh yes, _yes_ , absolutely, you– _nngh_.”

“You’re _wet_ ,” Douglas growled to him, palming at Martin through his pyjamas, fingers finding the small, damp patch where Martin’s cock had been caught in a fold of the material. “Oh, you’re wet... oh _Martin_.”

Thrusting against Douglas’ palm – even with a barrier of cotton in the way – felt infinitely better than rubbing against his leg, or so Martin thought until Douglas pushed his hand under the waistband and touched bare skin, and Martin moaned and grabbed at Douglas’ shoulder, leaning to mouth at Douglas’ collarbone and bite down to smother his noise when Douglas’ nimble fingers curled loosely around the base of his cock.

Above his head Douglas cursed breathlessly. That’s right, he liked a bit of teeth, didn’t he? Martin tried to redeem his lack of participation so far by kissing Douglas’ shoulder, nibbling lightly at his skin, and Douglas cupped the back of Martin’s head and made encouraging noises, and all but _purred_ at Martin when Douglas reached further into Martin’s pyjamas, to rub his palm over his balls and Martin had to nuzzle his face into Douglas’ throat to stifle his frantic moan.

“What d’you want?” Martin got out, after a couple of attempts. Like this, his cock was pushing against the smooth skin on the inside of Douglas’ forearm, with Douglas’ hand cupping his balls and his fingers brushing the inside of Martin’s thighs. Martin sighed heavily, encouraged when Douglas immediately pressed close to him, kissing him firmly while rubbing the inside of his thighs and pushing them wider.

“ _Douglas_. What... oh.” Douglas’ hand had found his cock again, playing with it without settling to any sort of rhythm, and Martin kissed him messily before pulling back to demand raggedly, “What d’you want to do?”

The urge to thrust into Douglas’ hand was unbearable, and Martin let his hips roll and push his cock through Douglas’ fingers but almost immediately stilled, catching his breath. Too dry: he’d been leaking a bit but not enough.

“What I want to do...” Douglas said musingly, giving the impression of being really almost calm and controlled until one looked at his face. He licked his lips, leaning in for a swift kiss. “What I’d _really_ like,” punctuating his words with a little squeeze to Martin’s cock, “right now, is to watch you come.”

Put like that, it was suddenly, blazingly obvious that the idea turned Douglas on: he rubbed his fingers at the root of Martin’s cock, sucking his lower lip between his teeth at Martin’s little squirm.

“But you... you’re not...”

“ _After_ ,” Douglas said, abruptly at the end of his patience and leaned down to kiss Martin’s throat. “Now tell me how you like it. Actually no, first of all tell me what you use.”

“What I...”

“You know.” A little bite to his throat made Martin jump, but the next instant Douglas was kissing the spot gently. “When you have a wank. What d’you use?”

“I... oh.” Martin bit his lip, his first response warning with sudden nerves. “Um. Promise me you won’t... won’t...”

“What?”

“Laugh.”

“Martin.” Douglas nuzzled at Martin’s cheek, brushing a soft kiss over Martin’s mouth when Martin turned his head. “I promise you I’ve never felt less like laughing in my life.”

“Um.” Martin pushed up into Douglas’ hand again – to tell the truth he was finding it rather difficult to keep _still_ – and encouraged himself with the thought of how good it would feel with just a bit, just a little dab of... “Er. Hair conditioner.”

“Conditioner,” Douglas repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“You promised you wouldn’t–”

“I’m not, I’m not.” Douglas kissed his smile into Martin’s shoulder. “I’ve done it myself, in a pinch. But I’ll need to avoid the haircare section in Waitrose for the next two weeks, thinking of you using that on yourself.” Another kiss. “In the bathroom then, yes?”

Martin nodded, and swallowed a groan of protest when Douglas took his hand off Martin’s cock.

“Don’t move.” Douglas sat up, and then leaned back down to nuzzle Martin’s stomach. “Unless it’s to get rid of your pyjamas.”

Under such open and frank admiration it was easy to comply, and Martin wriggled out of his pyjama bottoms and then moved into the centre of the bed, shuffling round to lie with his head on the pillow rather than sprawled perpendicularly across it.

“Where is it?” Douglas called through, after a few moments with only the noise of him opening and shutting the little mirrored cupboard over the sink.

“In my toiletries bag,” Martin called back. The delay was enough to start up the restless crawl of nerves over his skin. “It’s, um. Just a small bottle–”

“Oh yes, got it.” The light snapped off, and Martin gulped as Douglas re-entered the bedroom.

Abruptly he was aware of how he must look: the starkness of his erection jutting up from the thick bush of ginger hair that he’d not thought to groom, or even trim, his knobbly knees... Martin’s hands fluttered down, trying to look casual as he twitched a fold of the sheet across himself and said, “Got it, then?”

“Yes.” Needless to ask, when Douglas was setting the little bottle down on the bedside table, and – _oh_ – unfastening his trousers with a wicked look in his eyes.

“Mmm.” And now Douglas was naked and climbing into the bed to pull away Martin’s sheet, and Martin couldn’t help it and his gaze was dragged inexorably downwards – _again_ – to Douglas’ cock.

This time, though, Douglas wasn’t immediately crowding in to kiss and stroke him. He was letting Martin look, running his hands over Martin’s stomach and hips and – Martin glanced at Douglas’ face – looking at Martin with equal interest.

“You’re different,” Martin murmured, reaching out to touch Douglas’ cock, feeling the thickness and weight of him.

“As are you.” Douglas reciprocated, and Martin caught his breath as his body responded, his cock leaping a little in the curl of Douglas’ hand. “Though may I saw I’m very much enjoying it so far.”

“Y-yes.” Martin breathed deeply, and couldn’t hold back a grunt when a tug pulled uncomfortably at the dry skin of his cock.

Douglas took his hand away, twisting away to reach for the small bottle, and returned to kiss Martin briefly before looking at what he was doing.

Perhaps it was the familiar smell of the conditioner, or of Douglas newly-showered, but Martin felt harder than he’d been in a long time and – he looked down at himself – he _looked_ it too, thick and heavy and deeply flushed, his balls already drawn up high and tight at the root of his cock. With Douglas distracted, Martin stole a hand down to touch himself briefly, just a couple of strokes to take the edge off.

“Now then.” Douglas snapped the bottle shut, rubbed his fingers together, and reached down with a shiny-slick grasp to trail a finger up Martin’s cock before taking it into his grip. “Show me what you like.”

“W-what. What I...”

“Yes.” Douglas propped himself up on one hand again, looking at Martin, while his other hand closed over Martin’s cock. “Unless you want me to work it out. Would you prefer that?”

He sounded honestly curious, as though it mattered to him that Martin was getting exactly what he wanted, and Martin swallowed again. “Erm...”

He cut himself off at a sudden firm stroke from Douglas, reaching down to catch Douglas’ wrist as he squirmed only half in pleasure, and half at the firmness of Douglas’ touch.

“Go on.” Douglas leaned in to kiss Martin, stroking Martin’s face with his clean hand and winding a lock of hair around a fingertip. “Please?”

Martin closed his eyes and basked in the light touch of Douglas’ hand in his hair. Like this, it was easy to feel how much Douglas wanted him to get off, never mind the fact that Douglas apparently got a bit heavy-handed when he was turned on and the thought of that, of Douglas being aroused enough by Martin, by what they were doing, to forget himself and grow _clumsy_...

Martin nerved himself and slid his hand down to cover Douglas’ hand on his cock.

“Like this. Um, here.” Still with his eyes shut, Martin guided Douglas’ hand down to curl around the root, squeezing his grip tight. “If I want to... slow things down.”

A slow, firm, almost massaging grip, and thank God for Douglas’ ability to pick up any new skill more or less instantly because within half a minute Martin’s toes were curling, his thighs tensing.

“I see.” Douglas’ mouth brushed the bridge of Martin’s nose, before heading down to kiss his parted lips.

“And then...” it was all Martin could do not to pant; the slow, dirty squeeze of Douglas' hand on him, his heart pounding and oh, he wanted to come _so much_ by this point, his breath was shaking and his cock was tingling, he was so ready for it. “If... um... when I want to–” Martin’s tongue tripped and stumbled over _come_ , “go faster, like... this.”

Martin guided Douglas’ hand higher, pulling his fingers open into a gentler grip, silently showing him the short, swift tugs he used, stimulating the head of his cock until he whined, biting his lip as pleasure twisted tighter in his hips, crawled up the inside of his thighs, and he dug his heels into the bed.

“I _see_ ,” Douglas purred, and nuzzled briefly at Martin’s hairline, “and which do you want now?”

For the life of him Martin couldn’t even pretend to hold out: his hand fell away and he clutched at Douglas’ waist as he gasped, “That one. Just like that, right now – _please_.” He opened his eyes, conscious of the sweat at his hairline and the heat in his cheeks that spoke of how brightly flushed he must be, but found Douglas staring at him, watching as though Martin was a gorgeous piece of art he couldn’t look away from.

“Will you tell me when you’re going to come?” Douglas asked.

“Oh. Er–” Martin’s arousal faded slightly; he’d never been much of a talker in bed, too worried about how ridiculous he must sound.

“Please.” Douglas kissed Martin’s mouth. “I... um.” He drew back, licked his lower lip briefly. “I like it. Like... hearing it, I mean.”

Spoken like that, with that expression, it was perfectly clear how _much_ Douglas liked it, and Martin gulped and nodded as Douglas began to stroke him. He could do that for Douglas, whose rhythmic touch was already making him writhe and moan; his orgasm was starting in the fronts of his thighs, the lift in his balls, and Martin whimpered and waited for as long as he could bear, until the swift, steady tugs of Douglas’ hand on him tipped him over into the delicious, inevitable certainty of pending orgasm, and he got out, “D-Douglas, I’m there, I’m c-coming, oh _God_ –”

That was all he could manage – and God, he felt slightly ridiculous saying it – but it was enough to make Douglas moan loudly. His noise almost drowned out Martin’s as Martin clutched tightly at Douglas and finally, shaking like a leaf, came into the warm grip of his hand, streaking wet and messy over his own stomach and hips while Douglas panted and groaned against Martin’s shoulder, as though _he_ was the one getting off on this.

When it got to be too much Martin reached down, grabbing clumsily at Douglas’ wrist and Douglas stopped, kissing Martin’s lax mouth and letting Martin’s flagging cock slip out of his sticky fingers with a last caress that drew a faint noise from Martin.

“Mmm.” Martin tried to catch his breath, his heart pounding, and respond to Douglas’ kisses. “Hmm. I- hngh. Oh God.”

“Yes.” Douglas pressed closer to Martin and Martin turned into him, belatedly conscious of the mess on his skin.

“Oh. Um-“

“Here.” Douglas sat up and leaned down to retrieve his boxers from the floor, and set about wiping Martin off with firm strokes.

When spending time day-dreaming about sex with Douglas, Martin had wondered if Douglas would be overly fastidious; he was always so groomed and put-together. Maybe he didn’t care for the mess of sex – at least sex with _men_ , presumably the elegant women Douglas usually pulled got nothing more than a light dew of perspiration across their exquisitely moisturised foreheads. Martin couldn’t see Douglas exactly revelling in the sweat, the body fluids, the noise and fuss and _effort_ of it.

As with so many things about Douglas Martin had rather misread the situation, however he’d never been happier to be wrong.

Douglas may not have been revelling in it, but it was clear to see that he certainly didn’t mind it: he pushed the wadded material over Martin’s groin and between his thighs unhesitatingly, and when he dropped it over the side of the bed he pressed close to Martin once more.

“There,” Douglas said, as Martin turned onto his side to fit himself against Douglas, tangling their legs together. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been wanting to see that.”

Douglas’ skin was warm and wonderful against Martin’s. How long had it been since he lay here like this, in someone’s arms, skin to skin? Far too long, and Martin rubbed his cheek against Douglas’ warm shoulder as though he’d be happy to stay there all night. Further down, Douglas’ cock pushed hard and wet against Martin’s stomach, a thorough contrast to the gentle press of Douglas’ hands over his back. Martin bit lightly at Douglas’ shoulder, smiling a little at Douglas’ noise, and reached down to take Douglas’ cock in his hand.

Hard. Martin’s first thought was that Douglas was _so_ hard: thick and firm and long, and Douglas pushed hungrily into Martin’s hands as Martin ran his fingers lightly over him, learning the heft and weight of him, the exact texture of the dark hair at his groin.

“Please don’t tease,” Douglas said roughly, reaching down to cover Martin’s hand with his and urge it tighter.

“I’m not,” Martin said. Douglas had been so good, getting Martin off so perfectly, that Martin felt bold enough to kiss him and say, “Will _you_ show _me_ , now? What you... you know. How you like it.”

“Mmm.” Douglas caught Martin’s hand, pulling it away from his cock and up to his nipples. “If I had more patience, I might tell you to start here.”

Obediently Martin rubbed his thumb over Douglas’ nipple, curling his fingers lightly into Douglas’ chest hair.

“Harder,” Douglas said, “no, really, go on, _harder_ , you won’t hurt me– nngh.”

It was surely uncomfortable; Martin would never have touched himself even half as firmly, but Douglas’ cock twitched against Martin’s stomach. Martin looked down. God, but he wanted to touch it.

“What about when you’re not being patient?” Martin asked, squirming a little to rub deliberately against Douglas’ cock. “What then?”

In reply Douglas tangled his fingers with Martin’s and pulled their hands down to his groin. “Firmly,” he ordered, urging Martin to curl his fingers around his cock before reaching away. “And here...” he pressed a small bottle into Martin’s other hand, “use this.”

A familiar small bottle; Martin recognised it from Douglas’ room earlier that evening, although things couldn’t be more different, with Martin loose-limbed from orgasm and his nerves entirely forgotten as he quickly smeared his palm and fingers with the contents of the bottle. It was so slippery, what _was_ this stuff? Curious, Martin lifted his hand and sniffed at it. It smelled of... well, nothing, really, save a faint generic synthetic smell. But Douglas exhaled heavily through his nose and Martin put his hand back down hurriedly. Right, yes, he had a job to do, here.

At Martin’s first, slick pull on his cock, Douglas moaned and clutched at Martin’s hip, his large hand grabbing tightly. Incredible to see him so undone, to know that he, Martin, was doing that, and he gripped firmly and stroked him again, focussing on the top third of his cock and moving quickly, mimicking what Martin used on himself when he was trying to come.

Douglas was _grabby_ when he was turned on, apparently. He ran his hands roughly over Martin’s hip, reaching down to stroke his thighs and moving back up to squeeze and knead at his arse. It sent little twinges through Martin – reminders of their aborted attempt earlier – but he grit his teeth and said nothing because Douglas was _panting_ now. He’d only rarely seen Douglas so much as ruffled, and here he was breathing heavily, sweating a little and biting at his own lips and responding distractedly to Martin’s kisses.

“Hmm.” Douglas exhaled through his nose. “Slow down a bit.”

Perhaps Douglas did want to draw it out after all: Martin eased his grip, but Douglas groaned at once. “No, not like that. Like this.” He covered Martin’s hand with his own, tightening their joint grip again and guiding Martin into long, firm strokes, starting at the base and pulling the thick length of his cock tightly through their fingers up to the head, and then back down to start at the base again.

That pace would have driven Martin _mad_ with impatience but Douglas seemed to like it: after half a dozen of such strokes he moaned loudly, tilting his head back, and Martin took the offered invitation and bit lightly at his throat, sucking kisses against it as Douglas’ hips started to roll and push into Martin’s touch.

“Keep doing that,” Douglas bit out, taking his hand away to grab at Martin’s waist again. He drew a deep, shaky breath. “I’m getting close, just k-keep... doing exactly that.”

That was almost enough to make Martin hard again, watching Douglas come slowly to pieces, his hands sweaty and gripping just a bit too hard, his long legs shifting as he thrust steadily into Martin’s hand.

“M-my...” Douglas stammered.

_Stammered_ , of all things, and Martin kissed him – wet and open-mouthed and trying to communicate his complete and unquestioning enthusiasm to do absolutely whatever Douglas needed to get off. “Yes?”

“My hair. Touch my- my hair.”

At once Martin ran his hand through Douglas’ hair. “Like this?”

“No.” Douglas groaned a little, his knees bumping Martin’s as he squirmed. “Grip it.”

Ah. Martin was picking up a vague idea as to what sort of thing Douglas liked and he shifted his hand to Douglas’ nape and took a fistful of hair, his grip just shy of actual pulling.

“Nnngh, yes, oh fuck, yes, that’s it, oh _Martin_ –”

Douglas’ fingers dug almost painfully into Martin’s flesh; Martin’s wrist was beginning to ache but the head of Douglas’ cock was newly wet and slippery each time Martin rubbed his palm over it and he merely wound his fingers tighter into Douglas’ silky hair, set his teeth lightly against Douglas’ shoulder, and let Douglas pant and thrust into his hand and fondle his arse until Douglas made a sort of half-swallowed noise and there was a sudden rush of warmth and wetness across Martin’s hand and lower belly.

“Yes,” Martin whispered to him, as Douglas shuddered and moaned heavily, straining and tense against Martin, “yes, there you go, that’s it. Oh God, Douglas...”

It was gorgeous: seeing someone at their most vulnerable, in the middle of such an intimate act, and the fact that it was Douglas who was making those noises, his cock pulsing in Martin’s hand, left Martin dizzy with delight and lust and a sudden, odd protectiveness.

Martin stroked him through it, through the last pulse of come over his knuckles, and then just lay there holding Douglas’ wet, slippery cock in his hand and nuzzling kisses against his throat and shoulder.

“Amazing.” Martin couldn’t have stopped himself for anything, the words just spilled out. “Gorgeous, that was just... _incredibly sexy_ , Douglas, you’ve no idea how much... that was just... just... _amazing_.”

“Hmm...” Douglas sagged, seeming to exhale all his tension in one long sigh, his hands losing their fierce clutch and turning soft and caressing.

“Really.” Martin surged forward, kissing Douglas’ flushed cheeks, his mouth. Belatedly he loosened his fistful of Douglas’ hair, and stroked it back into place. His blood seemed to bubble with joy; he laughed slightly. “That was fantastic.”

Douglas huffed a laugh at this, responding to Martin’s kisses, and lightly cupping Martin’s face between his hot, sweaty palms to hold him still so Douglas could kiss his mouth, his forehead. Martin smiled at him. Douglas was flushed and sleepy-eyed, an errant strand of hair sticking to his damp forehead; he looked like someone who’d just had _fantastic_ sex, and Martin glowed with pleasure.

“It certainly was,” Douglas said, and Martin immediately wondered how he could possibly have thought himself content without this newly acquired knowledge that Douglas’ voice slid noticeably deeper after sex. “Though I’m sincerely hoping that the next adjective from you is _not_ going to be brilliant–”

“Oh God.” Martin was half-shuddering, half-laughing.

“And I will need that back at some point.”

“What? Oh.” Martin realised that his hand was still clamped firmly around Douglas’ soft cock; he let it slide free and when Douglas’ breath hissed between his teeth Martin kissed his shoulder in mute apology.

“Here.” Douglas grabbed at his soiled boxers and wiped himself off, catching Martin when Martin made to roll over. “Careful. You’ll get it on the bed, and I don’t much fancy sleeping in the wet spot.”

As Douglas cleaned his stomach for the second time that night, Martin could only focus on one thing. “Sleeping in...”

“Yes.” Douglas glanced up, caught Martin’s eye, and looked away. His posture tightened fractionally. “Or I could also just go back to my own room, of course, if you–”

“No!” Martin caught hold of Douglas’ hand to kiss his fingers, never mind that they were sticky and smelled like hair conditioner and sex. “No, stay. Please.”

Sleeping together... Martin would bet that Douglas would snore, and be far too hot, and take up more than his share of the bed. It sounded just wonderful, he couldn’t wait.

“Alright. After a shower of course.” Douglas smiled at him and Martin knew – just _knew_ – that Douglas was thinking of the two of them, showering together.

Martin grinned foolishly. “A shower sounds great, yeah.”

“Mmm.” Douglas didn’t seem in any hurry to go, however; instead he rolled into his back and Martin hesitated, until Douglas pulled at him and encouraged him to rest his head on Douglas’ shoulder.

“So...” Like this Martin could hear the rumble of Douglas’ voice in the ear he had pressed to Douglas’ shoulder, vibrating though his bones.

The discovery was so absorbing that Martin missed Douglas’ next question. “Sorry, what?”

Underneath Douglas’ chest hair – that had a far more generous scattering of grey than the hair on his head – he had _freckles_. Sparse and faint but definitely there, and Martin parted the thick curls to touch one lightly with a fingertip as Douglas repeated, “Better than the first attempt, then? Second time’s the charm, and all that.”

“Oh yes,” Martin said at once. “ _Lots_. That was...” He frowned. “I’m pretty sure they say third time’s the charm.”

But he trailed off into a contented sigh, and Douglas stroked his back. “They do _say_ that, yes. But thanks to old Gerti I fancy we’re rather better than most at improvising and correcting course on the fly.”

Martin laughed, rubbing his cheek against Douglas’ skin as Douglas – there was really no other word for it – _petted_ him, stroking his hair and massaging his scalp like a pampered housecat.

“So. Good enough that I could perhaps persuade you into a third time, then?” Douglas murmured.

A third time... unbidden, Martin’s memory presented him with the fact that Douglas had tried to go down on him, earlier, and the sensation of soft wet heat, the gentle press of his tongue.

“Yeah,” Martin said, closing his eyes and smiling, arousal stirring lazily under the insistent pass of Douglas’ hand along his spine. “I can’t wait.”

**End**


End file.
